


Bleeding Heart

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Brotherly Love, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Cure for the Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Emotions, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Sam and Cas devise a potential cure for the Mark of Cain. Dean thinks one of the ingredients will be impossible to get. Castiel thinks it will be easier than they know...and harder than they can imagine. But with the elder WInchester acting like a ticking time bomb, can they afford not to take the chance?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Bleeding Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators of Supernatural.

**Bleeding Heart**

Sam stepped outside the bunker, taking a deep breath of the dawn air. He'd been up all night, thinking.

Dean had killed Cain. The Mark was still a problem, and Dean refused to hunt for a cure. And he'd been working non-stop anyway, because he knew his brother didn't want to be a demon, and he didn't want his brother to carry the weight of Cain's curse.

He had an idea. He just had no idea if it would work. But he did know someone who might know. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. It rang twice, then picked up. “Cas?”

“Sam.” The voice was definitely the angel's. “What is it? Is Dean all right? Are you?”

“Yeah, we're both good. It's just...I've got a question I need to ask you. I think...I might have an idea on how to help Dean, but I've got no idea if it will work, or how it would work really, and I could use some...expert advice, I guess.”

“I'm not far away. I'll be there soon.” There was a click, and the line went dead. Sam took a deep breath, and hung up, then went inside to work. And keep an eye on his brother.

Castiel arrived two hours later. Sam let him in and led him to the main library just off the entrance. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Thanks.” Sam sighed. “I appreciate this.”

“Appreciate what?” Both of them looked up to see Dean hovering in the doorway. He was frowning uncertainly. “Cas, thought you were out on your angel hunt again.”

“I was. Sam asked me to return, to assist him with something.”

“Yeah. What's that?” Dean stepped into the library.

“The Mark. I think I might have an idea on how to handle it.”

Dean's expression closed. “Sammy, we been through this...”

“Yeah, I know. You're not searching for a cure. But I am. You're my brother, and I'm going to do everything I can to help you.”

“I told you...not your choice, not your fight.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, and setting an angel to possess me when I was about to die wasn't yours. But you didn't want to give up, and neither do I. So screw it, I'm going to keep trying until I know for absolutely certain that there is no chance.”

“Yeah? Last I looked, we're out of options. Short of releasing Metatron or sticking our heads in the Cage. And I ain't real comfortable with that.” Dean took two steps into the room. “So...what's your plan, Sammy? What exactly do you think we can do?”

“We can do what Father Thomas did in 1958.” Sam swallowed. “Until then, there was no demon-curing ritual, right? He had to make it up from scratch.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So...we make up a ritual to expel the Mark, or cut off it's influence, or something.” Sam slid a hand through his hair. “Look, we know sanctified human blood can reverse the transformation into a demon. That's a starting point.”

A bitter smile washed over Dean's face. “Yeah, we'll just whip up a little spell or two, wipe out a Mark that angels and demons can't handle. Cause that's just gonna be so easy. It's not that simple, Sammy, and you know it.”

“But not impossible.” Castiel's quiet voice stopped both brothers in their tracks.

“What?” Dean turned to look at the angel. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I am saying that Sam may have a point.” Castiel frowned. “It is possible. I hadn't considered it, as angels don't generally need rituals for such things, but...I know the mechanics of rituals well enough. And I've discovered that humans are very inventive, when they need to be. Both you and Sam are highly intelligent and well trained professionals in these matters. If there is anyone who could potentially pull off such a feat, it would be the two of you.”

“You're serious?” Dean scowled. “Cas, I wouldn't even know where to start.”

“Start with the fact that sanctified or purified blood had an effect, suppressed the Mark's influence, or at least the side effects. We start there.” Sam leaned forward to plant his hands on the table. “What else do we know?”

“It never lets go.” Dean's voice was raw and haunted. “And it wants me to be a killer, a monster. That's what we know. It wants me to be a demon.”

“Okay. What else?”

“It was set by Lucifer himself, according to Cain. The ultimate damnation. It makes it's bearer immortal, for all intents and purposes, but also encourages blood-lust and murder and other forms of violence.”

“So it's all about destruction and sin and death. Okay. So, we need things that would counter that kind of influence. Counter-agents. Sanctified blood is a start. What else?”

Castiel was frowning. “It's not...verified, but theoretically, the blood of the one they called God's Son...Jesus...it would be more powerful. By your ideology, his blood was meant to wash away everything, including original sin.”

“True. But where would we find the blood of Jesus?” Sam grimaced. “I mean, he died 2000 years ago. Unless you can jump back there and snag a piece of the cross or something….”

“No. I can't. But a true relic of God, touched by the powers of a vessel...they tend to linger. If I knew what I was looking for...”

“Piece of the cross, I guess. Or the nails they used. Or hell, the crown of thorns, if you want to really cover all the bases.” Sam straightened. “And we've got the Spear of Destiny, that supposedly pierced the side of Christ.”

Castiel nodded. “That might work, but I'd have to touch it, and Dean's Mark, to see if it has sufficient power. Considering that it pierced his side after Christ was dead, it may not have enough potency to counter the Mark of Cain.”

Sam nodded and left the library, to return a few minutes later with a long thin box. “Here.” He set it on the table and opened it.

“Dean.” Castiel motioned him over. “Give me your arm.” Dean reluctantly held out his forearm, and Cas touched it. He laid one finger on the blade, then closed his eyes. After a moment, he frowned, then shook his head. “The power in this object isn't sufficient. It's been tapped too may times, used too often.”

“Great. So we need a cross relic or something. Do you have any idea how many fakes there are out there?” Dean threw his hands in the air, then paced agitatedly away, then back. “What are we supposed to do, look up every yahoo who claims to have a piece of the cross and visit them one by one until we get lucky?”

“If we have to. Though it might work better just to see if we can hop a flight to Israel, see if we can sneak into Gesthemane or the old crucifixion grounds.” Sam was making notes on a spare pad of paper as he spoke.

“Great. I hate planes.” Dean sighed.

Castiel frowned “Sam, I'm not sure that would be enough. The Mark is...very powerful.”

“Right, so what ideas do you have?” Sam looked at the angel.

“You need something human, or at least earthly, that is also connected to heaven. Sanctified human blood is a good idea. But...something else blessed.”

Sam considered. “Communion wafer? It's supposed to represent the covenant between God and man. Something about 'this is my body, broken for you, for deliverance of sins', I think?”

“A possibility, if it were blessed by a truly righteous mortal. A true servant of God.”

“Oh, wow, cause they are so easy to spot. There's as many corrupt priests as there are fake cross relics out there.” Dean leaned against the far set of bookcases. “Hell, we can't even be sure of the Pope.”

“But there are righteous men out there. Devout men. If I focus long enough, I can find one through the angel radio. One who prays honestly.” Castiel smiled. “There are...more than you'd think.”

“Spectacular. Is that going to be enough?”

Castiel frowned. “You need a heavenly component. All of these things, they work in favor of the redemption of man. But the Mark is a symbol of Heaven's rejection. You need something to counter that element.”

“What, like angel blood or something?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “Blood is drawn by violence. That would only strengthen the Mark. Grace is a possibility, but that isn't meant to be absorbed by humans. That's why you are either possessed or destroyed when an angel takes over.”

“So something freely given. Like...like what? A feather? Angel Dust?” Sam blinked.

“A feather is a possibility. But not what I was thinking of.” Castiel was frowning at the table top. “It has to be something that can't be taken by force. Something you could only get through benign means. Something that is willingly given.”

“Like what?”

“There was a rumor, long ago. That an angel's tears, given for man, could heal things no ordinary power could.” Castiel shook his head. “It's...only a rumor, a legend, now, but...we are dealing with legends and rumors. And if a demons power can slake the Mark, enhance it, then it seems reasonable to believe that an angel can counter it.”

“You're joking. Angel tears?” Dean shoved himself upright. “First off, in case you haven't noticed, there aren't exactly a lot of sympathetic angels out there. And second, why would any of them do anything for us? Especially cry? Hell, I've never seen any angel cry about anything, ever. Not the shutting of Heaven, not the Apocalypse...not your own people dying. Nothing!” Dean growled. “No offense Cas, but you guys are freakin' ice cubes most of the time, and even when you aren't, you're a little hardcore for tears and shit.”

“I know. But...there are sympathetic angels. And there...may be a way. I would have to think about it.” Castiel frowned. “If we could try to find the other parts of this first, it would give me time.”

“Sure. Sanctified blood's easy enough. A confession booth and a knife will take care of that. I can look up relics, starting in the U.S., branching out. If you can give me a name of a devout priest, we'll go talk to him. I'm sure we can find a way to convince him to give us some holy wafer or something.” Sam studied his list. “Honestly, it's not easy, but we've seen harder, I guess.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But you don't even know if this'll work. We're flying blind here.” Dean huffed. “I just...I don't think it's worth it man.” He gestured. “A lot of trouble for nothing, if you ask me.”

Sam offered him a tight smile. “Yeah. Sure. But let's face it. You don't like what the Mark does to you, so you're not really against us. And even if you were...you're outvoted two to one here Dean. So are you going to let us try this or not?”

Dean stared at his brother a moment, then at Castiel. “You really think you can just mojo up angel tears?”

“I think it is not as impossible as you fear it is.”

“Right. Well, if you two dickheads are bound and determined...I guess we can do this. But I'm not giving you unlimited free runs on this, Sammy.” Dean met his brother's eyes. “There is so much else goin' on out there….” He shook his head. “Three runs. Three trial runs. Then you drop it unless you get a grade-A certified, fool-proof plan.”

“Fine. Three experiments, and if we get no dice, it's your call.” Sam held his hands up in surrender.

“Right. Let's go work us up some holy juice.” Dean sighed, and went to get his coat. Sam gave Castiel a quick look, then followed his brother.

*****BH*****

An hour of concentration allowed Castiel to produce the name of a nearby priest who was devout enough for their standards. Sam considered the news that he was Catholic and made an approving noise. “Works. Better than works, actually. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

Castiel frowned. “I don't understand.”

Sam flicked a startled glance at him. “Catholics do confession. Human blood is sanctified by confessing one's sins, having them absolved. So, we go to the church, I do confession, and then we find a reason to ask for some of the Communion bread to take with us.”

“Right. Why don't you guys do that. I'll stick here and see about Holy Relics.” Dean set himself at the desk.

Sam blinked. “You don't want to come with us?” Dean had looked ready to hit the road earlier, but seemed to have changed his mind.

Dean slammed back in his chair, throwing his arm up in an exasperated gesture. “I got the freakin' Mark of Cain here, Sammy. I don't think confession is gonna fix that, you know?” He sighed. “And even if it could, what exactly am I supposed to say? Hey, sorry padre, I was a fucked up demon for six months, please forgive me? I just spent the last few months killing, screwing around, trashing bars, and if I don't get to periodically beat up or kill shit, I get all crazy. But, yeah, I heard you can give me a clean slate? Not happening.” He looked away.

Sam swallowed. “Okay. Great. You look up relics, see if you can weed out any of the obvious fakes. Me and Cas'll hit the church.”

“Yeah. Get going.” Dean jerked his head at the door. “Sooner we finish this three-ring circus, sooner we can get back to the stuff we do best.” He pulled the laptop to him and began working, shutting them out. Sam and Cas exchanged a look, then headed for the door.

An hour later, they pulled up outside the church. Cas surveyed it through the windshield. “What is the plan?”

Sam frowned. “I was thinking...I'll go do my confession, get my blood sanctified. Then you can do confession, distract the priest while I collect the blood.” He pulled open his coat to reveal a hypodermic kit. “And then...we tell the Father that we've got a sick brother at home, really going through a tough time, and we think Communion would help him, ask him if he can give us the stuff. And if that doesn't work, we think of something else. Or we come back here at night and steal it.”

Castiel frowned. “That doesn't sound very appropriate.”

Sam coughed out a short bark of laughter. “Well, then let's hope the Father is in a giving mood.” Cas nodded, and they left the car.

A stocky, aging man greeted them as they entered the building. “Welcome, my sons! What brings you to God's house?”

Sam swallowed. “Ummm, well, it's...uh, it's complicated. But my brother and I...we've had a really rough time of it lately. And we saw this church and thought that, if you could spare the time, we could just get everything off our chests, you know? We're on the road a lot, so we're kind of infrequent church goers, but I've found that confession really helps sometimes.”

“Indeed. It is...very helpful.” Castiel chimed in right on cue.

“Of course. Of course. Give me five minutes to get my vestments, and then come to the confessional.” The priest nodded, then hurried away.

Sam turned to Castiel as soon as the priest was out of sight. “He's the right priest, right?”

“Yes. He is.”

“Okay.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Know what you're going to say?”

“I thought the point of confession was to confess your sins.” Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would I not simply do that?”

Sam grimaced. “Look, Cas, I don't think you can just tell the priest you're a fallen rebel angel. Or that you closed the Gates of Heaven. Or anything like that. At best, he'll think you've lost your mind. At worst, he might try to kill you, or summon another angel to smite you.” They both heard the creak of the confessional booth as the priest entered. “Look, confess whatever's on your mind, but keep heaven and the whole angel thing out of it, okay?”

Cas frowned. “I will do my best.”

“Okay. You think about that, while I go talk to the priest.” Sam clapped Cas on the shoulder, then made his way to the booth.

Inside it was dark, cool, soothing. Sam settled himself on the bench, then took a deep breath. He saw a screen on the wall in front of him, hesitated a moment, then opened it.

“Good afternoon, my son.” the priest's warm, gentle tone floated out of the shadows beyond the screen.

“Good afternoon, Father.” Sam swallowed. This had definitely been easier when he'd been in that abandoned church.

“How long since your last confession?”

“Um...about a year, I guess.” He licked his lips and swallowed again.

“I see. And have you sins to confess?”

“Um...yeah.” A bitter laugh slipped from his lips. “A whole crapton, I guess.” He remembered belatedly where he was. “Sorry Father. It's just...this is pretty difficult for me.”

“Go on, my son.”

He bit his lip for a moment, wondering where to start. At the beginning, he supposed. “Um...there was this man. He was...he was kind of an enemy of my family. And I...I kind of offered to help him. Heal him of a really severe illness he had.” Crowley and his demon essence. “Only, trying nearly killed me, and I got scared and backed off. I didn't save him.” He'd never figured out if Crowley hated him more for starting the trials, or for failing to finish them. “I put him through a lot, and I guess...I kind of feel bad about it.”

“I see. Fear is understandable. But you should not let it stand in the way of God's work.”

“Yeah. I get that. I do. It's just...” he shook his head. “It's complicated.” He sighed. “The thing is, I still really...I just hate him. I mean, he killed people I cared about. I haven't really forgiven him for that, even with everything else. I don't know how to deal with that.”

“Indeed. It can be difficult. But one must keep an open and forgiving heart, and have faith in God to sort it out.” There was a pause. “Anything else?”

“Um, yeah. I got...I got really sick this one time. Like, brain fever type sick. My brother dosed me up on these really powerful meds...” The closest he could get to angel healing. “But they kind of, they made me a little crazy, you know? That and the fever. And I...I sort of...there was this kid, staying with us, and I was so out of it I accidentally killed him. Like, electrocuted him. And everyone says it wasn't me and it wasn't my fault, but...it feels like it is.” He still saw Kevin's face in his nightmares.

“A tragic accident. It can be a terrible burden to bear.” The priest's voice was sympathetic. “Do you have any further burdens to lay before God?”

“Yeah. One more. It's about my brother. Not Cas, the guy who came with me. My other brother. He's not here. He was the one who dosed me on the meds. I know, he was just trying to save me but...I felt like it wasn't his call. I was ready to go, and he took that choice away from me. After I got better, I kind of...I blamed him. I said and did a lot of stuff that really hurt him. He almost died because of me, because I didn't have his back.” he fidgeted. “I feel really awful about that. I wish I could take it back, or at least do more to help him now.”

“Indeed. A failure to forgive can be almost as wounding to the one who carries the grudge as it is to the one who receives it. You should learn to forgive your brother.”

“Yeah. I know. And I do, kind of, now. But it's really complicated.” he ducked his head. “I guess...I guess that's it.” There were other things, but these were the things he felt most guilty about.

“Very well. Recite the prayers with me.” The priest led him through a prayer of absolution and penitence, which he managed to follow relatively easily. Then he bowed his head, muttered a quiet thank you, and slipped out the door.

He felt a little lighter. He emerged to find Cas waiting. Blue eyes locked with his, deep and strong, and then Cas nodded. “You look better.”

“Thanks. I guess it's your turn.” Sam fingered the syringe in his pocket. He'd go to the bathroom and draw the blood he needed while Cas was in confession. He just hoped the angel could handle it.

Castiel watched Sam stride down the aisle, then turned and entered the small booth. It was close and narrow, making him feel almost claustrophobic. He settled himself gingerly on the bench.

“Good day, my son.”

“Good day.” He felt nervous. Most of his many sins involved Heaven in some way. He linked his hands together, hoping for a cue as to what he should do next.

“How long since your last confession?”

“It's been...a very long time.” His last prayer had been when he was human. His last actual, honest-to-God confession had been right before the Purgatory incident several years ago. But that was part of what Sam had suggested he not reveal. He shifted uncomfortably, aware he shouldn't lie, but struggling to find a truth he could tell.

“And have you sins to confess?”

“I...yes. At least, I have things I regret.”

“Very well. Tell me.”

What did he regret? The matter of his Grace came to mind. He still hadn't told Sam and Dean the truth about that. “I...well, I'm lying to my brothers.” He shook his head, knowing how Dean and Sam would feel when they found out. “I found out some time ago...I'm dying. And it isn't...there isn't any known cure for my condition. The only way to stop it even temporarily would involve innocent people dying instead of me. But I haven't told Sam and Dean yet. They think I'm fine. But it isn't true. I just…I don't know how to tell them.” He looked at his hands.

“A heavy burden to bear.” The priest's voice was soothing, sympathetic.

He nodded, found more words to say. “And I...my brothers and sisters have been fighting for a long time. I was...thrust into the center of the conflict, and in trying to do the right thing...I've done many things wrong. There was a man, one of my former brothers...he wanted information from me, about another. Information I didn't have, couldn't give him. But my silence cost an innocent her life. And when I was freed, I was so angry I...I lied, and I killed the man.” His jaw clenched, remembering Muriel and Theo and Malachai. “And I...I've killed others in self defense.”

“You and your brothers? Forgive me, but you mean Sam and Dean?” The priest sounded confused.

“Sam and Dean aren't...we aren't related by blood. But they took me in, adopted me I suppose, when the members of my real family began to turn on each other. In many ways, they're more like family than any of my real brothers. They taught me what family really meant. They taught me...a lot of things.” His jaw clenched, remembering all the things he had learned with the Winchesters. Honor. Loyalty. Love. What it meant to forge a bond that could reshape eternity. The true meaning of feelings he'd never understood before.

He exhaled. “I've tried to do the right thing. But so many times, I've failed. And it seems like every failure leads to more bloodshed. Many of my original family are dead and wounded, and it is my fault. I've even hurt Dean and Sam with my carelessness.” So many memories. Of fire, of death, or grief and loss and anger and a thousand other things. “My arrogance cost so many people, so much.” He bowed his head.

“Do you repent of your actions?”

“Yes.” His throat felt tight. He wasn't human, but it made no difference any more. “I would give anything, to undo the things I have done.” Not saving Sam and Dean. He stood by that. But Purgatory, and Metatron, and what Naomi had forced him to do...he thought of Samandriel. Gentle little Samandriel, who had believed in him.

“Have you any other sins to confess?”

Samandriel weighed heavy on his mind. “Yes. I killed an innocent boy.” His hands clenched together. “I was...injured, trying to help Sam. One of my sisters came and got me. She did...things, to force me to be obedient to her will. To do as I was told. She thought I was too rebellious to be left alone. There was a boy, a younger brother of mine...he was kidnapped. His kidnappers hurt him. I went to save him, but I was too late. They...did terrible things to him, to make him give up secrets of our family. I got him out, but when my sister heard...she ordered me to kill him. And I did.” He felt the familiar shame rise in his heart. “I can say that I was forced to, and it's true. But it's also true that she tried to make me kill Dean too, and I refused. It makes me wonder if I could have stopped it sooner, if I'd just tried harder, been stronger...” He had never cried for Samandriel, never had a chance to, but he wished he could now.

“God understands if it was truly not your will, my son. And he will forgive you.” The priest's voice was thick, with compassion and something his higher senses told him was horror. For him, or of him, or simply for Samandriel, he couldn't tell.

“I've heard that. But it is...extremely hard to forgive myself.” And it was. He would be haunted by the image of Samandriel's dead face for all eternity, or at least until his Grace burned out and killed him.

“That is why we go to God, my son.” the priest's voice was gentle. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

He could have listed his sins for days, but the rest of them concerned Heaven. “No.”

“Very well. Pray with me.”

It wasn't hard for him to follow the prayers of the priest. He'd heard them millions of times, as an angel, floating over the angel radio. He knew the words almost better than the preacher himself. He followed along, bowed his head and murmured a 'thank you' at the end. Then just before he left the booth, he paused. “Father...if it isn't too much trouble...may I ask you for something?” The words felt clumsy, but when he'd been human and living in church shelters, he'd heard others ask the same question.

“Of course. If there is anything else I or the church can do for you, you have only to ask.”

“Dean...he is...ill. That is why he is not with Sam and me.” A stretch but true. “Sam and I thought, perhaps if we could bring Communion to him, it would make him feel better.” He glanced at the priest. “I realize it isn't entirely proper...”

“Quite all right. It's a noble thing, to wish to help your brother in his time of need.” The priest sat thinking for a moment. “Very well. I'll bless some of the sacraments, and bring them to you in the foyer.”

“Thank you Father.” Castiel ducked his head again and let himself out of the booth.

Sam met him halfway up the aisle. “Everything all right?”

“Yes.” he glanced back at the confessional booth. “Our host is getting the sacraments for us. I asked if he would provide them for our ill brother.”

“Good. I've got the rest of the stuff.” Sam tapped his jacket.

“Good. The priest said we should meet him in the foyer.”

The two of them moved out into the area by the doors. A few minutes later the old priest appeared, carrying two bundles wrapped in soft white cloth. He gave them to Cas. “Here. I've packed enough for the three of you to share. Do you have a priest to administer them?”

“Ummm...not at the moment. We're looking though. And Cas...Cas has studied some.” Sam stepped forward. “I mean, he's pretty devout. Would it be all right if he administered them, if we can't find a priest to come to our house? We live out in a kind of isolated area.”

The priest frowned, then sighed. “It is not ideal, but if you are a devout son of heaven, then it should be...permissible. You have studied the word of God?”

“Extensively.” Cas nodded.

Sam held back the urge to laugh at the irony. Cas had seen the word of God, the original stone tablet type word of God, up close and personal. He had been there when the Bible was being written. When everything had happened.

“Very well. It would be better if you had a true priest of the faith, but faith on your parts shall be sufficient.”

“Thank you Father.” Sam shook the old man's hand. Cas bowed to him, his hands still holding the sacraments he'd been given. After a quick farewell, the two of them returned to the car. Sam pulled the case of syringes out of his pocket and put them with Castiel's bundle. “Right, so...two down, two to go.”

“Yes. I suggest we go after the relic next.”

Sam made a face. “Yeah. Of course. We have to find one true relic of the cross, or something equally potent. Among a hundred thousand fakes.” he sighed. “This is going to suck.”

*****BH*****

They arrived back at the Bunker to find Dean hauling boxes into the main library. Sam went to put the blood and sacraments in safe storage, then came back. “Dude, what's all this?”

Dean huffed as he dropped another box onto the table. “Well, I looked up cross relics online. Got about fifty billion hits...” He grimaced. “And then I thought, 'hey, this is the greatest repository of lore and relics known to man. What if they have some relic here? Or maybe in another storehouse? Or maybe, they have records on a hunter or a helper or some batshit nutjob who has a holy relic?' So I went into that computer records thing you and Charlie set up, and I started searching for anything labeled holy relic. Or anything that might be a holy relic that's been mislabeled.” Dean smirked.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You know, there are like, hundreds of relics in this building. And records on at least a couple thousand more in the archives. It'll take weeks, maybe even months to go through all of these. And you don't even know if we'll find anything.”

“Yeah, and?” Dean met his gaze with a challenging stare. “Are you seriously going to tell me this doesn't beat chasing all over every country known to man looking?”

Sam sighed. “Sadly, you do have a point.” He eyed the boxes. “So, what's your plan?”

Dean glanced at the table. “You look shit up in the records. You tell me what I'm looking for, I go find it, haul it up here. Then Cas can poke it, see if it's got the magic. It doesn't, we file it away for later, go on to the next one.”

Cas frowned. “That seems...very time consuming.”

Dean turned to glare at him. “You got a better idea?”

Cas's frown deepened. “I could simply...wander the Bunker. It's very orderly.”

“Yeah. But that might not work. A lot of this stuff was put in special warded containers and boxes, so demons or other malevolent entities couldn't find it.” Sam sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think Dean's plan is our best bet for the moment.”

Cas looked at both brothers, then stepped forward and picked up the first box.

They spent the better part of the next three months digging through boxes and relics and musty records in the Men of Letters bunker. Some of the stuff in the various rooms was so old and covered in dust it took four tries to even decipher whether or not they had the right box. Twice they found things that were in the wrong room, or mislabeled.

There were two minor hunts they went on, to slake Dean's edgy restlessness. The older Winchester fought the Mark's influence, but getting out on a monster hunt seemed to calm his nerves a little.

Castiel was in and out of the Bunker. Sometimes he was summoned to attend to things in heaven, sometimes he sought out angels who had refused to return when the gates were re-opened. Sometimes, he simply went to consult with his brothers and sisters, or on long walks. Both brothers noticed he often looked weary when he returned from Heaven, but Cas said nothing and, since he wasn't coughing up blood or fainting, they respected his silence.

In the fourth month, Dean was startled out of his focus on the eggs he was cooking by Sam busting into the kitchen. “Found something.”

“And that's new how?” Dean huffed, put the eggs down. “What?”

“A bowl of some kind...I think. It's vague. But one of the first Men of Letters discovered a bowl that had, in his words 'a peculiar virtue'. He said that the town where he found it was blessed, or so it appeared. He was pursued by demons to the borders, and then they just...gave up. It took him nearly six months before he discovered this chalice or bowl or whatever at the local church and brought it with him to the Bunker. None of the Men of Letters ever discovered the secret of it's powers, and it was eventually shelved in the storage area. And then the records were buried.”

“Sounds at least as promising as every other lead we've chased.” Dean sighed, and jabbed his spatula at the table. “Sit. We'll eat, go find this chalice-thing, and call Cas.” The angel had disappeared two days ago, to get reports from his compatriots.

“Call me for what?” Both brothers jumped.

Dean cursed as he nearly spilled the eggs. “Damn it Cas...at least knock.”

“My apologies.” Castiel stepped into the kitchen, eying the eggs with the same wistful appreciation he directed at most food. “You said you were going to call?”

“Yeah. Got another promising lead. An old forgotten bowl. I think. Here's the file on it.” He passed the notes to Cas as the angel settled absently at the table, and took the plate Dean handed him, eating while he watched Cas leaf through the document.

Castiel's brow furrowed. “Possible. I have no way of knowing how accurate the report is, however...there is a chance.”

“Great. Breakfast first.” Dean stuck another forkful of eggs in his mouth.

After they cleaned up breakfast, Sam led them down into the bowels of the Bunker, far enough into the back hallways that he and Dean were both coughing up dust. Even Cas looked a little uncomfortable, a small furrow of a frown on his brow.

Finally, Sam found the door listed in the records. “Here.” He twisted the handle then shoved hard. The door groaned, then creaked open with a grating screech that made all of them wince.

Dean coughed again. “What the hell? I don't think this place has been cleaned since the Bunker was built. Gah.” His nose wrinkled. “That bowl of yours better be down here Sammy, or I am so making you scrub every single inch of this place.”

Sam flashed him a fleeting grin. “If it's here, I'll be happy to.” He glanced at his notes with the flashlight in his hand. “We're looking for Box 22C.”

“Great. Let's find it and get the hell out of here.”

It took them the better part of an hour, until Sam finally located the correct box behind another one in a corner. He pulled it out, double checked the label, and then the three of them left. Dean got cold drinks for all of them, while Sam carefully cleaned the box of several decades worth of grime, then worked the latch until it gave a rusty, muffled click and unlocked. Cas and Dean both tensed, ready to move if the contents of the box weren't as benign as they were meant to be. Or if there was some sort of spell on the box. Sam studied it a moment, shrugged, then flipped the lid up.

A medium-sized dark metal bowl sat in the box, protected by a thin layer of cloth padding. Dean frowned, then stepped closer. “This is it?”

“Yeah. It matches the description.” Sam was studying it.

“Huh. Doesn't look much like a holy relic.” Dean stared at it, then absently reached forward and picked it up.

Heat, painful and sharp, shot up his arm, and he dropped it with a curse. “Dammit! That hurt!”

Cas immediately stepped forward, drawing them both away from the box. He turned to Dean. “Are you injured?”

“No. Not really.” Dean glared at the bowl, lying on it's side. “Just felt like I got friggin' zapped is all.” He shook his hand a couple times. “Like sticking my finger in a light socket.”

“Let me examine it.” Cas turned, watching the bowl warily. He held one hand, glowing faintly, over the bowl for several moments, then frowned and picked it up.

Both brothers tensed, but the angel showed no sign of discomfort. He simply studied the bowl a few moments, then set it down and turned back to them. “Dean...which hand did you use to try and pick this up?”

“My right.” Dean massaged the arm.

“May I?” Cas held out his hand, and Dean set his right hand gingerly in Castiel's.

Dean grimaced as a pins and needles sensation flowed up his arm. “Ow...damn, that is uncomfortable. Cas?”

“It's reacting to the Mark.” Cas was running his fingers over the interior of the bowl. “The power in this object and the power of the Mark are at odds.”

“That's a good thing, right?” Sam bit his lip. “That means it'll help do what we want it to do, won't it?”

“Based on what my senses are telling me, yes.” Cas let go of Dean's hand, frowning at the bowl in thought. “In theory, if we combined the rest of the spell components into this bowl and properly blessed it, it could have some effect on the Mark. I'm just not sure exactly what.”

“Well, that's better than no lead at all.” Sam huffed. “So...we just gotta find angel tears.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Angel tears shed by an angel who weeps for humanity. Good luck with that.”

Castiel shot him a sharp look, then cleared his throat. “That part may actually be fairly simple.” Both brothers turned to look at him. Blue eyes darted up to meet Dean's, then Sam's. “There is a...a spell I encountered, that might provide us with what we need. At least, it would be a starting point.” He took a deep breath. “I can't perform it myself. I'll need to be the subject of it. But...Sam, if you can cast it on me, the spell should work.”

Sam frowned. “Is this going to hurt you? Or weaken you?” Castiel's version of 'weaken' usually meant nearly lethal.

Cas frowned, then shook his head. “No. It shouldn't. There may be some…discomfort involved, but nothing that will have a permanently damaging effect.”

“Discomfort?” Dean scowled. “Is that discomfort like 'ow headache' discomfort, or 'I'm coughing up blood on the side of the road' discomfort?”

“Headache.” Castiel looked from one to the other, both Winchesters wearing identical worried, stubborn expressions, then sighed. “This spell won't affect my powers, as far as I know. It won't damage my Grace, or drain it. It's a spell to help me find...help me remember certain things. As I said, possibly uncomfortable, but it's not life threatening.”

“You're absolutely sure?” Sam frowned at him.

“As sure as I can be, yes.”

Sam watched him for a long moment. “Okay, what do you need for this spell?”

“Holy oil, a bit of my own blood.” Cas moved to the table and wrote out a long incantation that Sam recognized as Enochian, translated into syllables he could read. “There's a sigil I need to draw....” He frowned, glancing around the room. “I'll need to sit down and ready myself.”

“Sure. Do whatever you need to do.” Sam was studying the incantation, working out the pronunciation in his mind, the rhythm of the spell. “Holy oil's in the first storage room on the right.”

Castiel nodded and disappeared out the door. He reappeared ten minutes later, his white shirt partially unbuttoned to show the sigil traced in blood and oil at the hollow of his throat, just below where his throat had been cut to steal his Grace. He glanced around, then picked up the bowl and settled himself in one of the leather armchairs, bowl in his hands.

Dean made a face. “Dude, why do you need the bowl?”

Cas looked at him, then away. “It...seemed appropriate.”

Dean huffed. “Sure. Whatever. It's your show.”

Sam looked up from the incantation. “I think I have all the pronunciation right.” he stepped forward. “You ready, Cas?”

“I am. However...” His gaze flicked between the two brothers. “Once the spell is begun, don't interrupt it. For any reason. I don't know what the side effects would be but it might...interrupting the spell might damage me.”

“Okay. How will we know when the spell ends?” Sam's jaw clenched briefly.

“The sigil should stop glowing. And I...unless the spell does something unexpected, I should be able to tell you.” Cas sighed. “If the sigil stops, and I do not speak to you...give me ten minutes, and do whatever you think necessary to rouse me.”

Sam's jaw clenched, then he echoed Castiel's sigh with one of his own. “Okay.” He moved until he was standing directly in front of the seated angel. “So, do I just read this, or is there something else I need to do?”

“You'll need to touch the mark. First two fingers of your right hand.” Cas demonstrated. It looked like the gesture he used when he was employing his Grace. “Remove your hand when you've finished.”

“Got it.” Sam read over the page one more time, then bent and laid two fingers on Castiel's chest, in the center of the drawn sigil. Castiel tensed slightly under his hand, but he said nothing. He remained still as Sam read the long incantation from the paper in his hand.

The sigil began to glow and Castiel stiffened sharply, his eyes beginning to shine with eerie blue-white light. Sam stepped back.

Seconds ticked into minutes, and nothing appeared to happen. Then Cas made a soft sound, like a man being struck. His hands clenched around the bowl, expression contorting as a word whispered past his lips. “No...”

Pain flooded Castiel's expression. Pain and sorrow. Dean cursed softly.

The expression on Cas's face was one both brothers knew all too well.

The expression he had first shown Dean in an isolated room where Dean had begged him to help prevent the Apocalypse.

The expression he had worn when confronted with the fact that he had lied to them, been dealing behind their back with Crowley, when he had apologized and asked them to understand.

The expression that had burned itself almost permanently into the lines of his face after he had opened Purgatory.

Anguish. Regret. Remorse.

He wasn't seeing them, there was no telling what he was seeing, eyes gazing into the distance. But there was no hiding the effect.

Agony ripped through his face, settling into familiar lines of pain and grief. Then a tear slipped from the glowing eyes, tracing a trail down his cheek. Both brothers watched, shocked, as another tear fell, then another, until Castiel was crying freely, blind eyes staring into some personal torment only he could see. The tears fell, streaking the angel's face, to drip into the dark metal bowl he held.

Dean cursed again. “Son of a bitch...Cas, what the hell did you do?” He stepped forward, but Sam caught his arm.

“We can't disturb the spell, remember?” Sam's own eyes were pained, watching Castiel, but his hand was firm.

“Removing the Mark isn't worth this, Sam!” Dean's hand slashed out to point at Castiel's face. “I don't care if it gets us angel tears! I'm not gonna make him suffer for me.”

“Seriously Dean...” Sam turned to look at Cas.

“How the hell could he do this to himself?”

“Because he's Cas.” Sam's jaw clenched. “We should have seen this coming.” His hand clenched. “Tears of an angel who weeps for mankind...we should have known.” He swallowed. “He said he had a spell that could make it easy...and we never questioned it.”

“Son of a bitch....he was planning this.” Dean turned to slam his hand into a stone wall.

Tears of an angel who wept for mankind...Castiel was the most qualified angel either of them knew.

Sam swallowed hard. “Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters….he said that about the Leviathans. How the hell did we not realize he'd do something like this?” He felt like an idiot.

“When this spell ends, I'm gonna punch him.” Dean's eyes were wide and pained, watching Cas.

“I'm not. But I'm going to find something we can do for him. To help him.” Sam's eyes were steely with determination.

Castiel wept.

Minutes ticked into an hour, then two. Sometimes Castiel's tears would stop, only to renew later. Both brothers prowled around the library, restless and unable to settle, worried about their friend. As the second hour of the spell ticked by, Sam went to kitchen and brought back water. “Even for an angel, his vessel is going to be dehydrated.” He set it on the table.

Dean stared at it a moment, then went to the kitchen himself, to return with a bowl of water and a towel. He met Sam's gaze and shrugged uncomfortably. “It's what I do when you've been sick and all.” Sam nodded in understanding.

Finally, as the second hour crept into the third, the light in Castiel's eyes began to fade. The sigil flickered and went out. The angel took a deep, almost convulsive breath, like a man surfacing from underwater. His eyes closed, then opened, looking up at the brothers. “It's over.”

Dean stepped forward and took the bowl from Cas's hands. “Good. Sit still.” Castiel blinked, but he ignored the questioning expression as he pushed the angel back into the chair and picked up the towel he'd brought in. He dunked it in the water, wrung it out, then knelt in front of the chair. “Close your eyes.”

“Dean, I...”

“Shut up and do it.”

Castiel frowned, his gaze flicking up to Sam, who nodded. Then his eyes closed.

Dean used the damp towel to wipe away the dried tracks of Castiel's tears. Sam glanced at the bowl Castiel had held, swallowing hard as he realized it was at least half full. Dean made sure every trace of weeping was cleaned from Castiel's face, then for good measure, he wiped away the spell sigil on the angel's chest. Castiel was clearly uncomfortable, but he permitted Dean's ministrations.

Dean threw the towel back into the bowl, and Sam handed him the water. He unscrewed the cap off the water bottle and shoved it into the angel's hands. “Drink.”

Cas blinked at him. “Dean...”

“Drink the damn water.” Dean gestured.

Castiel frowned at the bottle, then took a few swallows. He looked at the brothers, then drank a few more. “I don't think I'm thirsty any more.” He closed the bottle. “Did the spell work?”

“You mean, did you turn on the waterworks? Cry like a kid at a funeral? Yeah, it worked.” Dean's jaw tightened. Then he grabbed both Castiel's shoulders, hard. Cas looked at him, startled, as he shook the angel. “Don't you ever, ever do that to yourself again, do you understand me?”

Cas stared at him. “No. I don't understand. If it worked...”

Sam knelt beside the chair. “Cas...when you planned this...did you ever think about how we would feel?”

Cas frowned, looking confused. “I assumed you would be relieved to have the final spell component for Dean.”

Dean scowled. Sam stared at him. “And you thought that we'd be okay with seeing you in pain, for something like that? With seeing you cry?” Sam's jaw clenched. “Cause honestly, we're not.”

“You're not?” Cas frowned.

“No. We sure as hell are not.” Dean shook his shoulders again. “Cas, we've gone to hell and back together, literally. And I've never seen you shed a tear. I've seen you hurt, and I've seen you tortured and I've seen you worn out and every other state of screwed up it's possible to be. And none of that ever made you cry, not even when you were human. So how the hell could you think I'd be okay with seeing you hurt that bad?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“Oh. It...bothered you.” Cas looked vaguely surprised.

“Yeah. It bothered us.”

“I see.” Cas frowned, hands fidgeting slightly with the water bottle he held. Then he looked up. “If it...if it makes you feel better...that was...not the original purpose of the spell.”

“What?” Sam blinked. “What was the spell for?”

Cas glanced at him, then away. “It's a...a memory spell.”

“A memory spell?”

“Yes. Angels...well, usually, we remember everything we've seen or experienced, but that can be changed. Altered. Injuries, accidents, things we try to forget...or that other angels force us to forget.” His hands tightened on the water bottle.

“That Naomi chick?” Dean scowled.

“Yes. She told me she had...that she had suppressed and altered my memories several times. That I did things I don't remember doing.”

“Like what?”

“She said...many things. She mentioned the Firstborn Plague in Egypt. But she said I had...she said I was...'the spanner in the works'. The one who never did what I was told.” He looked at his hands. “I didn't remember it.” He sighed. “After she told me that, when I realized how much I might not know, or remember about myself...I wanted to find a way to fix it.” His hands twitched, fingers tapping the water bottle. “I wasn't sure how, but while I was here, I read the books you have.” His gaze wandered over the library. “The men who created this place...they had a fascinating amount of knowledge. I found the spell while I was here, helping Sam heal. But with Gadreel and Metatron and Abaddon...with everything that was happening, it didn't seem like the right time to use it. And then, I got caught up in the war, and Metatron's plans for Heaven...” He looked back at the ground.

“One thing led to another, and you never found the time.”

“Partly. Plus, my involvement with the angels…I didn't know what would happen, but it wasn't something I wanted...I didn't know what the spell would do to me, but I had a feeling that...that it might not be a pleasant experience. Even if it was just memories.” He sighed. “One of Naomi's men...he told me that it was a burden, knowing everything. That his knowledge was why he supported the apocalypse. That he envied me my ignorance. That thought...it made me very concerned.”

Blue eyes rose to meet Dean's. “I had been planning to ask you to help me. I thought...given everything, being here...that it might help me. And then when Sam mentioned the spell to try and remove the Mark….”

He sighed again, shook his head. “I don't know why I thought of that legend. You're right, it's been centuries since angels shed tears for humanity. And I'm not sure there ever were that many sympathetic angels to begin with. But I thought...I don't know. It just...I thought it might work. And I thought there might be more answers in my memories.”

“So you didn't just put yourself through this...whatever it was, for me.” Dean looked at him.

“Not just for you, no. I'm sorry.” Cas looked away. “Well, I decided to try the spell now because of you. But I thought you might be angry if that was my only reason.” He looked at Sam and Dean, and a small, sad, ironic smile flicked over his face. “You Winchesters...you don't like to see other people suffer for you.” he met Dean's eyes. “I did hear you. When I was remembering. And after all these years...that's one thing I've learned about you and Sam.”

Dean huffed. “I guess. I still think it was a dick move though.” He ran a hand through his hair and rose from his crouch.

Sam frowned. “Did you recover your memories? The ones Naomi said she took from you?”

Castiel's eyes slid out of focus. He looked suddenly worlds wearier, like a man on the edge of collapse. “Yes. I believe so.”

The tone of his voice brought Dean back to his side. “Cas? Was it bad?”

Blue eyes refocused on them. Then Cas looked away. “It was...I'd prefer not to discuss it. I suspect being human has made me much more sensitive to a great many things. Emotions. Memories. Sensations. Seeing some of the things I was involved in...reliving some of my past actions from my current perspective…it was highly unpleasant.”

“That much was kind of obvious.” Dean looked at the bowl. “Man...seeing you cry...”

“That...” Cas looked thoughtfully at the bowl. He rubbed his cheek with one hand in an absentminded fashion. “I wondered...did I cry...a great deal? There were many memories where I was unhappy, when I felt pain, but...”

“You cried a freakin busload.” Dean scowled.

“Good.” Cas exhaled softly. “Then we should have plenty of tears for Sam's spell for you.” he frowned in consideration. “Although...if we need more...”

“Don't you even think about it.” Dean almost snarled the words. “You're not doing something like that again. Not for me.” He gripped the angel's shoulders tight. “Not again, you hear me?”

“I'm with Dean on this.” Sam crouched next to his brother, the two of them bracketing the chair. “Remember what you told me, when I wanted to extract Gadreel's grace? It applies to you too.”

Cas nodded. “I understand. Hopefully, this will be enough.”

Dean huffed a sigh and stood again. “Great. So we got sanctified blood, Communion stuff, holy relic and angel tears. What now?”

Cas frowned. Sam answered. “Now...I think you need to tell us exactly how Cain transferred the Mark to you. Was it a spell, talisman, tattoo job?” He eyed the Mark on his brother's arm. “Burn?”

“Not really. It was...” Dean frowned. “Actually, it was kinda like a reverse of what Cas did, when he took the Hell crazy out of you. He grabbed my arm, and this red light sorta...crawled, I guess, up his veins, then into mine. Hurt like a son of a bitch though.”

“You're certain it was similar to the method I used with Sam?” Castiel straightened.

“Pretty much. I'm no angel hoodoo expert, but it looked about the same to me.”

“Interesting. Lucifer placed the mark using an angelic technique. Warped and twisted and vastly more powerful than anything most angels could produce, but an angelic technique nonetheless. That actually makes this...much easier.”

Dean scowled, a little uncertain. “But...your mojo couldn't handle this thing, could it?”

“No. Not even if I were at full strength. That...was placed with the power of an archangel.” Cas's head tilted. “However, knowing what technique he used, I may be able to use my Grace to boost the effectiveness of Sam's attempt.”

“Right. So...what's the game plan?”

Sam frowned. “Start with something straightforward. We'll combine the components, then inject them the way we would the sanctified blood. You can tell us if you feel anything.”

“All right. Let's work this up.”

Sam drained some of Cas's tears into another container. He hadn't noticed before, but they were glowing faintly. Angel grace. He set the bottle aside for later, wondering what that meant.

Cas returned with the sanctified blood, the wine, and the ashes of the communion wafer. They hadn't wanted it to go bad, and the angel had set it on fire, after explaining that the ashes could be stored indefinitely, and that burning it wouldn't detract from it's power. In fact, Cas had ventured the opinion that, given the biblical precedent for burnt offerings, it might even enhance the effectiveness.

They carried the lot down to the medical treatment room. Dean settled himself in the chair. “Let's get this party started.”

Sam nodded, then mixed equal parts communion ash, wine, blood and tears into the bowl. He looked at Cas. “You said you could enhance this?”

“I believe so.” Cas considered a moment, then dipped two fingers into the bowl. His hand began to glow with soft, radiant light. “Fill the syringes.”

Sam did so, and Cas removed his hand from the swirling liquid. “That was the first part.” He moved to Dean's side and laid his hand on Dean's arm. “Give him the first injection.”

Sam didn't move. “What are you doing?”

“Injecting Dean will counter the Mark's influence. With the tears and the healing energy present, it will transfer a small fraction of my Grace into Dean's body. Once that Grace interacts with the Mark, I can draw it back to myself. That should draw the poison of the Mark from Dean.”

Dean tensed. “Wait a second. Won't that hurt you? I mean...like the stuff you pulled out of Sam?”

“It shouldn't. Not that severely. And if we take it in stages, I should be fine.” Cas shrugged, one corner of his mouth twisting in a slight grimace. “A little uncomfortable, perhaps.”

Sam scowled. “Cas...we just discussed this….”

“I can handle it.” Cas's jaw set in a resolute scowl.

“Cas...”

Cas moved. Before Sam could react, he snatched the syringe from his hand and jabbed it into the Mark, injecting the contents with one swift press of the plunger. Dean went rigid, jaw clenched and head thrown back in pain. Then light flared in the Mark, crawled down his arm and into Cas's hand. Dean gasped. The Mark visibly lightened. Castiel groaned as the red light slid up his arm, and fell to his knees, his head bowed as he let go and clutched his hand to his chest.

Sam darted forward. “Dean?”

The elder Winchester ripped the needle out of his arm. “Check Cas.”

Sam knelt on the floor beside the angel “Cas?” Cas looked pale, ashen, his arm clutched to his body as he breathed, slow and deep in obvious pain.

“Cas. Let me see.” Sam didn't wait, just took the angel's arm and pulled it away. After a moment of resistance, Cas allowed it.

His hand and arm looked burned, ugly, deep burns, with bright angry streaks that looked almost like blood poisoning crawling up his forearm, to the place where Dean's arm held the Mark. Sam swallowed hard. “Cas...”

“I'm fine.” The angel glanced at his arm. “It will heal. The demonic essence should burn out of my body fairly quickly.”

“That's not the point.” Dean hopped out of his chair. “Cas, I can't let you do this to yourself. Not for me. You could damage yourself, lose all your grace, kill yourself...you said yourself this thing's got archangel juice in it…what if it burns you completely out?”

“It won't. As long as I pace myself. If we limit this to once a day, it will take longer, but the side effects of the transfer should be manageable. Working on that schedule will give me adequate time to recover after each transfusion.”

“Cas, it's hurting you.” Dean took his shoulders. “It's hurting you. Burning you. I don't want to do that to you.” His grip tightened. “Damn it, we just talked about this! No hurting yourself for us.”

“You don't understand.” Cas met Dean's furious eyes with his own calm ones. “That's why I have to do this.”

“What?”

Cas sighed. “You say...that you don't wish me to suffer on your behalf. Dean...” he paused, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two brothers before settling on the floor. “The transfer of energy, pulling the Mark's power from you...yes, it hurts. And yes, it may conceivably damage me. But I would suffer far more watching you struggle with this, watching the Mark cause  _ you _ pain, than these wounds could ever make me feel.” He sighed again. “So, if you truly wish to diminish my pain, in any form, you will let me do this for you.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Cas...I...I can't...”

Cas heaved a deep breath, then reached up. His hand fell on the hand-print scar he had left, so many years ago. “Dean.”

The hunter froze. Castiel looked into his eyes, serenity and remorse warring within the cobalt gaze. “I've...made so many mistakes. Done so many...regretful things. If I had been a better angel, a better guardian, less prideful or arrogant or reckless, you wouldn't be in this situation. Heaven would be open, I'd have my Grace, I could have killed Abaddon without the First Blade...so many things would be different. I can't change that, and I can't fix the mistakes I've made. But I can do this, I can take this burden from you.” His hand clenched tight, his eyes burning with a light that rivaled the blue-white fire of his Grace. “Dean, please...let me raise you from Hell, one more time.”

Sam froze. Dean flinched, pain in his gaze. “It means that much to you?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. It does.”

Dean held his gaze a long moment. “I let you fix this...you stay with us, and you let us keep you alive, do whatever we have to to either find your real grace or turn you human again. Even if I have to slit an angel's throat a week to keep you going, you let me. Until we save you, one way or the other.”

It was Castiel's turn to flinch. After a long moment, he nodded. “If those are the terms...then yes.”

“All right.” Dean rose, then pulled Cas to his feet. “That's our shot for the day. You let Sammy put some medicine on that, and you rest. Got it?” Cas nodded. Dean clapped him on the shoulder. He looked for a long moment at the faded Mark on his arm, then turned to his brother. “I'm gonna grab some beer and make some burgers. You settle Cas and join me in the kitchen.”

Sam nodded and went to the cabinet to pull out medicine and gauze.

*****BH*****

Sam kicked the door closed, careful not to jostle the armload of pizza and drinks he was carrying. He'd been in charge of getting stuff for their celebration, and he wasn't about to drop it.

After two weeks of once a day injections, the Mark of Cain was gone. Dean no longer felt it's dark pull on his mind, the urge to kill or fight. Cas could no longer feel the curse of it in Dean's soul. The physical Mark itself was completely gone from Dean's arm.

Two weeks. It had been rough for all of them. Dean had been sweating through the effects of sanctified blood and the Mark's removal. Cas had suffered from the hell energy he withdrew with each injection. Sam had done his best to support them both, feeding them, helping Cas to the guest room he rested in after every session, bandaging the angel's arms and talking Dean through his anguish at the pain Cas was going through for him.

Yeah, it had been rough. But it was done. Dean was free. And as soon as Castiel was awake, or came out of his healing meditation, or whatever it was the angel did to recuperate, they were gonna party. Sam had bought every ounce of beer and whiskey he could get his hands on, knowing it would take more than usual to get the angel even slightly buzzed. He also knew it would be worth it. He didn't know if Cas would eat the pizza he'd brought, but he hoped the angel might try. He knew Cas loved food.

It had been hard, watching Cas take his brother's curse, suffer through the pain of it. He'd wanted so many times to stop it. But he'd also understood. If he'd had the option, he'd have done the same thing, and with no more hesitation.

His mind shifted gears. Cas wouldn't admit it, but they all knew he'd drained a fair amount of his borrowed Grace with this procedure. They needed to find his Grace, and fast.

Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.

Cas's words had filled his mind a lot lately. Him and Dean. And they'd agreed. Once the Mark was removed, it was their turn. They'd hunt for Cas's Grace. They'd fight for him, bleed for him if need be. It was their turn to bleed for their angel, and God help anyone who tried to stop them.

He pushed the thoughts away. Tonight was a night for celebration and relaxation. Dean was free. The Curse was gone. And if ever someone showed up with the Mark of Cain again, they'd know how to fix it. They hadn't used all Cas's tears. Hopefully, they'd never be needed again, but the option would be there for future generations.

Knowing that also felt incredibly good.

Sam ducked into the kitchen and began setting things up. Dean heard him, stuck his head in. Sam held up two pizzas and a box of pie. Dean grinned and disappeared to check on Cas, see if the angel was moving again. Sam stuffed the pizza into the oven to warm up.

Tonight, they'd celebrate. Tomorrow, they'd hunt.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this during the mid-season break. Obviously AU, but well...I just wanted a way for the brothers to solve it themselves, and maybe not accidentally blow up the world?


End file.
